Love for a Deaf Rebel: Schizophrenia on Bowen Island

By Derrick King

Love for a Deaf Rebel is the true story of a tumultuous romance. With pathos and nostalgia, the author recounts his roller-coaster ride with Pearl, a vivacious deaf maverick, who, unknown to him, had paranoid schizophrenia. We follow their encounters through actual notes written before Derrick learns sign language; we go on their motorcycle ride to Mexico and Guatemala; we watch as the happy couple moves to Bowen Island, a British Columbia community with just three paved roads. Pearl and the author marry and build their dream home and hobby farm. They encounter one obstacle after another while building their life together as Pearl’s perception of reality—and, crucially, their perception of each other—begins to change. The author learns what it means to be deaf, what it means to struggle with mental health, and what it means to love such a woman unconditionally—the ecstasy and the agony.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Provenance Press
• Release date: Mar 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9789811805752

Book preview

Love for a Deaf Rebel:

Schizophrenia on Bowen Island

By Derrick King

Copyright 2021 by Derrick King

e-Book Edition ISBN 978-981-18-0575-2

Published in Singapore by Provenance Press

Pearl is priceless, so this book is not for sale. This book is published under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 (International) License. Everyone is free to download, print, copy, search, reuse, modify, redistribute, or link to this book provided this book is cited and the author is identified. For license details: creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0

National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing in Publication Data

Name(s): King, Derrick.

Title: Love for a deaf rebel : schizophrenia on Bowen Island / Derrick King.

Description: Singapore : Provenance Press, [2021]

Identifier(s): OCN 1243509349 | ISBN 978-981-18-0574-5 (pdf) |

ISBN 978-981-18-0575-2 (ebook) | ISBN 978-981-18-7316-4 (paperback) |

ISBN 978-981-18-3633-6 (audiobook)

Subject(s): LCSH: King, Derrick--Marriage. | Love. | Man-woman relationships. |

Deaf--Marriage. | Mentally ill--Marriage. | Deaf--Family relationships. |

Schizophrenics--Family relationships.

Classification: DDC 306.7--dc23

Never Comes the Day words and music by Justin Hayward, Copyright 1969 (Renewed), 1970 (Renewed) Tyler Music, Ltd., London, England. TRO-Essex Music International, Inc., New York, controls all publication rights for the USA and Canada. International copyright secured. All rights reserved, including public performance for profit. Used by permission.

This is a true story. Most written conversations are abridged from transcripts. Signed and oral conversations are recreations from notes and records. The author tells the story as he experienced it, with Pearl’s earliest history revealed last. The names of living persons have been replaced by pseudonyms.

Dedication

To Pearl

Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage,

for fear I effuse unreturn’d love;

But now I think there is no unreturn’d love—

the pay is certain, one way or another;

(I loved a certain person ardently,

and my love was not return’d;

Yet out of that, I have written these songs).

Walt Whitman

Sometimes with One I Love, 1860

Contents

Part I: Together in Love

Under the Clock

Shall We Be Magnificent Couple?

A Silent Movie

Guatemala by Motorcycle

The End of the World

Part II: Partners in Adventure

Bowen Island

Trout Lake Farm

Men Can’t Be Trusted

Rich Couple’s House

Shooting Pigs in a Sty

Alberta School for the Deaf

Part III: Divided by Destiny

I Want a Baby

Where Are the Bullets?

How Did You Find Me?

Down the Road

Love for a Deaf Rebel

Epilogue

About the Author

Press Reviews

Reader Comments

Also By The Author

Part I: Together in Love

Under the Clock

I walked into a roar of conversation, bought sushi, and shuffled through the lunchtime chaos of the Pacific Centre Food Court, looking for a seat. Umbrellas and overcoats dripped water onto the white tile floor.

A black-haired woman sat under the clock, her back to the wall, scanning the crowd with radar eyes. Her porcelain face, brown eyes, and high cheekbones gave her face a long-distance presence, yet her elegance was neutralized by a brown dress and a perm. Her drab style contrasted with the gaudy colors and big hair of the 1980s. She wore no makeup or jewelry. Her radar locked on to me as I looked for a seat.

The seat opposite her became vacant. I elbowed my way through the crowd and sat down. I was wearing a blue suit with a white shirt and a silk tie; like most bankers, I only removed my jacket on the hottest of summer days.

I loosened my tie. I ate while she studied me with the barest hint of a smile. I smiled at her and looked away. She looked at me while she ate fish and chips and sucked down the last of a Coke with a gurgle.

What are you staring at? I finally said.

She pointed to her mouth and then to her right ear.

Are you deaf? I said, at first puzzled and then surprised.

She nodded.

I took the gold Cross pen from my suit pocket, picked up a napkin, and wrote, "Spicy horseradish."

I turned my napkin to face her. She read it and smiled at me as if she expected me to write more.

"I wondered why you looked at me. I never met a deaf person before."

"I watch lips. If you speak and I ignore you will think I am rude. I don’t want hearing to think that deafies like me are rude."

Can you lipread? I said.

The woman shook her head.

"Most people never look at each other. They only look at the floor. That’s why I spoke to you."

She smiled. "We are 200,000 deafies in Canada. Our language is ASL—American Sign Language."

"I’m getting an ice cream. Do you want one?"

The woman scribbled on the tattered napkin and pushed it across the table.

"Almond."

She smacked her lips, grinned, and put the napkin in her purse.

I bought two ice cream cones at Baskin-Robbins and stuffed a handful of napkins into my pocket. The music of Madonna played in the background. We sat on a bench in the mall and continued to write. I noticed her fingernails were badly chewed.

"Congenitally deaf?"

The woman shrugged.

"Born deaf?"

"Mother had measles at 4 months pregnant. Lucky not 2 months or I am blind and deaf."

I smiled. "That’s life."

"That’s me. I accept my deafness. My children will be hearing. She looked at her watch. I go back to work. Nice to meet you."

The woman stuffed the napkin into her purse and disappeared into the crowd as I watched her walk away.

I went back to the food court just before noon. The silent woman was sitting at the same table under the clock. She looked up and waved at me. I sat down. She looked at me expectantly. She seemed to be about my age, almost thirty, yet her face hadn’t a wrinkle.

I reached into my suit and pulled out a few sheets of paper and my pen.

"I remember you."

She put down her chopsticks and wrote, "Ha-ha."

"How are you today?"

"I feel bothered about my real estate. I am stuck to pay mortgage and apartment rent."

"You must have a good job to afford two places."

"I work at the post office. I sort mails. Managers and union fight. Something not nice to work there. Good pay but I have Medical Lab Technician diploma at St. Paul Technical Vocational Institute. They have interpreters there."

"Then why do you work in the post office?"

"After divorce I come back to Canada to Vancouver because a lot of deafies in Vancouver so I can get a good job. But no hospital would hire me. All refused because I am deaf. I got a temporary job at the post office. She turned the paper to face me so I could read it and then took it back and continued writing. Six years ago. Temporary. Ha! But I am lucky to have education and job not to be unemployed. Most deafies are unemployed—80%. 1/3 quits high school."

"I studied too. Electronics engineer, but I work for a Dutch bank. Boring but better than a post office job! I study Spanish at night school. I will start an MBA in September. I want to work in another country. I taught at night school, so a teacher and a student at the same time. My name is Derrick King."

"Pearl. Pearl pointed at herself, looked up to check the time, and mimed punching a time-clock. I must go. 15 minute walk back and PO is strict. Bye!"

Whenever I went to the food court at my usual time, just before noon, Pearl was sitting under the clock, and we started writing.

"I met my husband at TVI in St. Paul but he is from North Dakota."

"How long were you married?"

"9 months. Then I found him in a gay bar in Fargo! She stuck out her tongue and hung her wrist limply. I lost my mobile trailer down payment from mother—my wedding gift. All my furnitures. That was 7 years ago."

I pointed at Fargo. "My wife and I were married in ND too! A strange coincidence."

"How long were you married?"

"7 years."

"Who left who? And why?"

"She left. She said she didn’t want to be married anymore. She said she was a feminist so she needed to be single. As soon as she could support herself she told me she didn’t need a husband."

"Respect is important. Did you want her to stay?"

"Yes."

"I want a family with Mr. Right. Children are first then the husband is second."

"I’m Mr. Write! Kids need a house. Nowadays that means two incomes."

"Two incomes until children are small. Then wife should be home to be mother if husband will afford. Depends on location."

"Yes. Where do you live?"

"Kitsilano near the beach."

"Me too, 2125 2nd Ave."

Pearl grinned. "2168 2nd Ave."

"That is the other side of the street! Another strange coincidence."

A man with a gray comb-over was sitting at the table next to us. He wore several sweaters. He leaned over to Pearl with a big smile, as if we were his grandchildren, and said, "And what kind of game are we playing?"

Pearl shrugged and turned to me for an explanation.

She’s deaf, so we are writing to each other.

He pulled back as though I’d said we had leprosy. I’m so sorry! He stood and walked away.

I told Pearl what he had said, and her face became flushed with anger. "I HATE when hearies make pity." Her pen plowed into the paper.

Hearies was a new word to me, and I was one of them. Pearl slurped her Coke and grinned.

"You carry a paper in your pocket now."

I laughed. It is for starting fires.

I jogged downhill to Granville Island Public Market. As I approached the market, I spotted Pearl walking with a woman. They carried their groceries in shoulder bags and backpacks to leave their hands free to sign.

Pearl looked over her shoulder as if she had eyes in the back of her head. She waved at me. I waved back, wiped the sweat off my brow, and walked through the crowd.

Hello, Derrick, said Pearl’s friend in a hollow voice.

Do you know me?

She grinned. Pearl tells me everything.

Pearl tapped her arm. Tell him you’re hard-of-hearing and can interpret, Pearl signed, as the woman interpreted. I was astonished at the transparency of her interpretation; it was as if Pearl had spoken to me herself.

"So fast! I’ve never heard Pearl speak before," I said, as the woman interpreted.

When people hear my accent, they don’t realize I’m hard-of-hearing. They think I’m Swedish, she signed and said. She pulled her long hair back to reveal a finger-sized hearing aid behind each ear. I’m Jodi.

Don’t interpret everything, Pearl signed, as Jodi interpreted.

I laughed. I must be careful about what I say.

Derrick is curious—his eyes sparkle, signed Pearl. Will you eat with us?

No. I can’t jog home with a full stomach.

Then rest with us, signed Pearl, so you can run faster on your way home. Today we will eat Vietnamese food.

We sat down at the Muffin Granny. Pearl put her bag in Jodi’s lap for safekeeping and went to buy food.

Is it hard for hearing people to learn sign language?

That depends on you, said Jodi. How badly do you want to learn?

That depends on Pearl.

Pearl and I became friends slowly and cautiously, seeing each other for lunch two or three times a week for two months before we progressed to a date. Our first date was on 14 April 1984—for dinner, at Pearl’s invitation. With a bottle of wine, a box of chocolates, and a notepad, I walked across the street from my apartment, one of the best-kept buildings on the street, to her apartment, one of the most run-down.

At the entrance, I studied the intercom. Her suite was the only unit with OCCUPIED instead of a name. I rang the buzzer. A few seconds later, the electric door opened. I walked down the corridor and saw Pearl peering from a door. She grinned and waved. I followed her into her one-bedroom flat, and she bolted the door behind us. Pearl accepted my gifts with a nod, a smile, and a sign I didn’t understand. She handed me a corkscrew and two glasses. I poured the wine, and we raised our glasses in a silent toast.

Pearl’s apartment was simply furnished and tidy. A crochet project lay on her coffee table. The wooden-cabinet TV played silently while white-on-black text scrolled across the bottom of its screen, decoded by the Sears TeleCaption decoder sitting on top. I had never seen captions before, but now I could read the news line by line.

I walked over to her TV and tried to turn its green tint into natural color, but its picture tube was worn out. Pearl didn’t have a videotape player, so her home entertainment was books and green-tinted TV.

Next to the sofa stood a bookcase with Reader’s Digest, Introduction to Psychology, two McCall’s Cooking School binders, and a Hume Moneyletter binder. On her desk sat a telephone, lamp, keyboard device, and a box with wires leading around the room and up the wall to the doorbell panel and the bedroom. Charcoal drawings and oil paintings hung on the walls, original artwork.

We sat at the kitchen table and smiled.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Deaf Aids. If a doorbell rings the lamps would flash slowly. If the telephone rings, the lamps would flash fast. Those pictures that my youngest sister Carol who is artist drew."

Silent News and the Dictionary of American Idioms for the Deaf lay on the kitchen table. I picked up the dictionary and browsed through it.

"Do you know many idioms?" wrote Pearl.

"I know all of these."

"Idioms confuse and cause a problem to have deep English communication. Now captions teach me. Before captions I don’t understand TV."

The telephone rang, and the lamps in the living room and bedroom began to flash. Pearl sat down at her desk and put the telephone handset on the keyboard device, a Krown Research Porta-Printer. It bleeped as green fluorescent text flowed across its one-line screen and text printed on a strip of paper, like a receipt scrolling from a cash register. Pearl typed her reply, removed the handset, and hung up.

I sat on her sofa and wrote, "What computer is that?"

"TTY, not computer."

"What does TTY stand for?"

"Telecom? Device for the Deaf. TDD or TTY. Before 1980 deafies must ask hearies to phone. Now all have TTY. This is new. $600."

I tried to imagine living without understanding television or being able to use a telephone.

"When you call me you can call the telephone company MRC—Message Relay Centre. I have unlisted number. I don’t want hearies to call without a TTY. Some deafies put number in phone book. Bad! Thieves know owner is deaf and rape if name of woman."

"I see a hearing aid on your shelf. You are not deaf."

"I am deaf. I understand nothing with a hearing aid. Only noise." Pearl jammed her little finger in her ear and wiggled it to show me it was itchy. "I never use hearing aid. School force kids to use. I did not like."

"You must have had a hearing test."

"Many. I tested myself too. I hear birds fly, stars twinkle, and sun shine. Do you understand? Pearl smiled. But I can’t hear my TV without captions."

I laughed. Pearl fascinated me. She pulled a folder from her neatly labeled files and handed me an audiology report. It charted a trace of hearing at low frequencies in her right ear and no hearing whatsoever in her left. Pearl’s ears were useless.

I pointed to the chart. "140 decibels in your good ear. You hear a jet fly like I hear a pin drop."

Pearl put a battery in her hearing aid, put it in my right ear, and turned it on. Feedback made it howl painfully loudly. I removed it.

"My breathing sounds like a vacuum cleaner!"

"Ha, your problem. Maple syrup spareribs are ready. My favorite."

We took turns writing and eating.

"You need a decoder to see CC. When I was a child I could not understand TV."

"Why do some TV shows have a little window with someone signing?"

"Deaf children can understand. Deafies don’t like signing boxes and prefer CC. Easy to read and learn English too. We have to wait for movies to be on video before we can watch captions."

"When you were small did your family help you with the TV and telephone?"

"Until sisters got bigger then too selfish and busy. My family does not sign. In my youth no signs were allowed so today still no ASL in my family—only ‘home signs.’ Experts told family don’t learn any signs so I would force to be lipreader. Family only talk to me."

"How much did you understand?"

"Few words. Mother always say I fool her and pretend I don’t understand. Families with deaf today sign—happy. New way is ‘Total Communication.’ My children will sign."

"Your family can learn to sign now."

"My sisters and brother learn few signs recently, but mother always refuse signs. I learned nothing until I went to school. There I learned to sign!"

"Your family is handicapped, not you."

"True! I wanted to hurt my mother for not signing. I think she forgives me now."

As the kettle behind me began to boil, Pearl gestured to let me know so I could turn it off. I laughed. She looked embarrassed, and I realized I had been rude when I laughed.

"I forgot you hear it boil. Deafies watch pot boil for each other."

Pearl carried a pile of photo albums to the table and took me on a tour of her life. Her photos were organized and labeled. She looked happy in her photos, especially at college.

"Student in college in USA where I learned to become medical lab tech."

From her photos, it was clear that attending college in a signing environment had been a happy time for Pearl. She had fewer photos after college. I was impressed that her mother had sent her to study abroad. She pointed at her ex-husband and grimaced. She pointed at her nose, then at her father’s matching nose.

"When friends looked at my pictures, they said my face does not change. My Father, we were almost same. Smart man in oil company, killed in the car accident. If my Dad is alive right now we would be multimillionaires. Mother. Works in the company kitchen. Warm but not close to me. Sister Debbie is 29. Her husband is teacher. I’m closest to Sister Carol, artist, 28. Brother Kevin is 22. He is manager assistant for cement basement and fire extinguish. You can see in Yellow Pages. He is handsome and charming. He would beat up anyone who bothered me if I asked. I have a hard time to say ‘Kevin.’ K is invisible on lips."

"Try to say my name."

"Derrick," she said softly and unintelligibly, like Eh-ih.

"I can understand you a little bit. How do I sign ‘King’?"

"Fingerspell or we invent name sign. Most people use first letter of name and describe something about personality, looks, etc. King is like this." She put her right hand on her left shoulder, formed a fingerspelled K, and curved it down to her right hip like a royal sash.

"Then like this for Derrick?" I made the same sign with a D.

Pearl laughed. "I approve your name sign. Only deafies can give a hearie a name sign. You are not suppose to change it."

After an hour of exchanging gestures and notes, Pearl closed her last album, opened a drawer, and pulled out certificates for bookkeeping, office management, and est seminars. I was impressed by her continuing self-development. Pearl showed me how she had organized her drawers with hanging files, each with labeled tabs, but her files were nearly empty.

"I will show you my goals now." Pearl showed me an expensive leather-bound desktop executive agenda, almost empty.

"You have no appointments."

"Not yet." She opened a section of her agenda labeled Things to Do Before I Die. Her five-year plan listed a dozen goals, including Find Mr. Right, Have kids before 35, Learn scuba, and Learn computers.

I pointed at the word scuba.

Pearl led me to her closet and yanked it open. I was surprised to see a dry suit, air tank, and a thousand dollars’ worth of diving equipment. She walked back to the living room and sat at the end of the sofa with her knees together.

"Your equipment looks new. How did you learn to dive? Did your instructor sign?"

"No lessons yet. I will learn with Jeff who signs fingerspelling. Jeff is my hearing friend that lives nearby. He has epilsy. He leaves his marijuana here because I don’t want him to smoke so much."

"Isn’t scuba diving dangerous with epilepsy?"

"Never heard if."

"Was Jeff your boyfriend?"

"A few times. Jodi liked you. Jodi is the most friendly girl than others deafies and HH. I envy her ability to talk to hearies. But her English is worse than mine. Did you like Jodi?"

"Yes, but not as smart as you. Tell me about the accident. How old were you when your father died?"

"14. Father was killed with all family except me because I was in school. Mother was driving the car. Father was driving another car with all family except me. The car of father passed mother. Then cars hit and went from the road. Pearl mimed two cars tumbling. Everyone throw out of the car but only my father died. He was 35. I was only family to go to a funeral because all other family are in hospital."

"That’s horrible! Why did the cars crash?"

"Exactly! Why? Newspaper and police question my mother for cause. Police call grandparents and neighbors and investigate my mother. They say accident. I think not accident."

"You believe your mother wanted to kill your father, so she caused an accident that almost killed her whole family?"

"I will research to find the truth. I love my father even he refused to learn signs. He permitted me to drive a car. I sit in his lap and turn the steering. Many griefs. Years to trust mother again."

She